The Three Rs

by Ashe Barker

  But even knowing all that, the prospect of moving into the flat, however warm it might be, alone, is completely unappealing. I want to stay with Cain, it’s that simple. For however long it lasts. I might well be on a collision course as my reality threatens to derail this erotic fantasy I’m living in, but that will come soon enough without me hurrying matters along.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll stay. For a while, see what develops, like you say.”

  He turns to me, flashes me a quick but still absolutely dazzling smile. He really can ramp up the sex appeal when he wants to. “I was hoping you’d say that. So, are you up for a little spank-fest later?”

  Spank-fest! My bottom quivers in response and my pussy moistens delightfully. No harm in playing it cool though. For a while. “That sounds quite…nice.”

  He’s not buying that, sadly. “Nice? Miss Fischer, you’re squirming in your seat. And I do believe you might be blushing. Who’d have ever imagined that? There’s a lay-by just up ahead—maybe I should pull over and have you show me your clit. I wouldn’t mind betting it’s already swollen. Is your sweet little tush wet, Miss Fischer? Should I check?”

  He flicks the indicator on the steering wheel to signal left, makes as though he is about to pull in.

  “No! That won’t be necessary.”

  “Miss Fischer?”

  “Yes, I’m wet. Okay?”

  “And your clit?”

  “Yes. Probably.”

  “Probably what?”

  “Swollen. Pink.” We pass the lay-by, and I start to relax, but he soon puts a stop to that.

  “What about your nipples?”

  I glare at him, but can do nothing to stop the physical response his words are evoking. I’m acutely conscious of my nipples, now rubbing against the soft silkiness of my bra as they also swell and harden, and of the gathering wetness between my legs. Not to worry, I somehow doubt I’ll be keeping my existing knickers on for very much longer.

  “Miss Fischer, I’m waiting. Are your nipples hard yet? If you’re in any doubt I’d be happy to check them for you.”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be needed either. Yes, my nipples are hard. And sore now, thank you very much.”

  “Don’t mention it, my pleasure. So, shall we have a little music then? There’s Coldplay in the glove box. Or you could try and find something on the radio.”

  “I don’t care about bloody music…” I mutter grumpily, squeezing my thighs together in the hope of creating even a tiny bit of friction around my clit. It doesn’t make much difference, and Cain isn’t letting up.

  “I’d like some music. The CD, please. And Miss Fischer, you’ll find all that wriggling around much more effective if you just unzip your jeans and shove your hand down the front. Would you like me to pull over and demonstrate? It’s no trouble.”

  “No! Thank you.” I continue to squirm.

  “Miss Fischer. Zip. Hand. Now.”

  What? “Are you serious?”

  “I am. And I’m running out of patience. Did I not make myself entirely clear? I reckon we’ve about ten minutes before we get back to the yard. That should be enough time for you to make yourself come at least once, maybe more. So get on with it, if you would.”

  I don’t move, just continue to stare at him.

  “You’re wasting time, Miss Fischer. Maybe you need that demonstration after all.” He signals left again and the van starts to slow down.

  I reach for the button on my jeans and unsnap it. “I’m doing it, I’m doing it.”

  “At last. Hurry up then.”

  I pull down my zip, and before I can think over what I’m doing, I slide my hand inside.

  “I want to see. Lift up your bum and push your jeans right down. To your ankles. You’ll need to be able to get your knees apart.”

  I gasp. “What if someone sees?”

  “The windows are tinted, and no one will see what you’re up to anyway. So do as I say, please.”

  And I do it. I really do it. In broad daylight, as we drive smoothly through the rush hour traffic on the A1, headed toward of Berwick-upon-Tweed, I actually shove my jeans and pants down around my ankles and spread my knees wide. Even before he asks me to, I lift up the hem of my T-shirt to give him an unimpeded view. Then I slip my hand back between my legs and get started.

  I slide my fingers through my slick folds, testing the wetness there. Quite impressive. I trace the outline of my pussy, leaning back in the seat and lifting my hips slightly. I can feel his eyes on me as he divides his attention between me and the road. We pull up at a roundabout, and I sink lower in my seat, hoping that a curious passer-by won’t glance into the van, but I’m becoming a little less concerned at that anyway as my arousal starts to spike. The van is stationary and I know he’s watching me as I slip two fingers inside my pussy. I’m hot and tight. And very, very wet. I squeeze the muscles of my pussy around my fingers. This is what he feels when he finger-fucks me. My response is erotic, I love the feel of my pussy clenching around my hand, and I imagine it’s his cock in there.

  I lay my head back against the headrest and groan.

  “Feeling good, Miss Fischer?”

  The motion of the van tells me we’re moving again as I gasp my response. “Yes. You?”

  “Oh, I’m feeling very good indeed, love. You’ll find your G-spot at the front, about a third of the way in.”

  I follow his route map, and thrust my hips forward as I hit that sensitive place. And keep on hitting it. I rub harder, angling my hand to be able to slip a third finger in, and place the pad of my thumb over my clit.

  “I see you’ve found your technique, Abbie. Now let’s see what you can produce.”

  He has the grace to keep quiet, well, almost, for the next couple of minutes as I concentrate on producing not one but two beautiful climaxes. The first is there in moments, whipping sinuously through my tingling body as I thrust my fingers deep inside my pussy, rubbing hard against my G-spot with each stroke. I flick and caress my clit with my thumb, and the combined sensations are overwhelming. I shudder and groan my way through the orgasm, concentrating on not letting up the pressure even as my senses scatter. As I start to calm again, I withdraw my fingers from my pussy to turn my full attention to my throbbing, demanding clit. I slide my middle and index finger along each side, smoothing out the hood now shielding only a small portion as the little nub swells even more under my touch. Using my right hand to position and expose the sensitive bud, I lay the middle finger of my left hand on the tip and press lightly.

  I start a circling motion. It feels good. I flick. That feels good too. I rub the pad of my finger up and down, and from side to side. I feel my arousal start to build again, hovering there, just below the brink. Nearly, nearly, not quite.

  “When we get home, you’re going to do that again, but this time you’ll have my cock inside you.” His tone is low, even, indescribably sexy.

  It’s enough, and I shatter again.

  I’m still buzzing as we pull up outside the gates to the Parrish Construction yard. It’s all locked up as Phyllis will have left at lunchtime to get back to her Stan. Cain gets out to open the gates, as I reach down to pull up my pants.

  “Take those right off. Have you ever tried nude drawing?” The van door swings on its hinge as he hops down, leaving his words hanging in the air.

  “What?” Did I hear that right?

  But he’s already walking around the bonnet to unlock the gate so I have to wait until he returns to the cab before I can check. Meanwhile though, I know I’d better do as he says. I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach down to untie the laces of my still shiny new safety shoes and toe them off my feet. My socks follow, then I kick my crumpled jeans and underwear from around my ankles. I turn to face him as he climbs back into the van.

  “Did you say nude? I don’t draw nudes. Well, I never have…”

  “I wasn’t asking you to draw a nude. I mean you’ll be nude as you do the drawing.” He edges the van forward through the gate to
park in front of the office door. He turns to me. “You promised you’d draw that sign for me. Onto the picture you did back at the site. I want you to do that please, if you would. And I want you to be naked when you do it.”

  “But, why…?” I’m not entirely opposed to the idea, but it has rather arrived out of left field.

  He shrugs. “I’d enjoy it. And I feel you owe me some sort of penance for your behavior back there at the site.”

  Ah, right. That. I start to apologize, but his raised hand stops me.

  “You can say you’re sorry later. After you’ve followed me inside, taken off the rest of your kit, drawn me that sign, and then bent over your desk for a spanking. Then you can apologize if you still want to.” His gaze is serious, level. He means it, and this feels like a subtle shift in our relationship.

  He’s not threatening me with anything I won’t love doing, but somehow there is a hint of discipline in this too. A whisper of retribution for my rudeness, my unreasonable reaction to his request. I drop my eyes, studying my hands now folded together and resting on my still-bare thighs.

  I’m confused, uncertain about this new and as yet unexplored element to our play. But at the same time I know instinctively that I’m going to do it, going to allow it. How could I not when the thought of submitting in this way is even more exciting than the first time he spanked my bottom?

  I chew my lip thoughtfully as he waits for my response. He doesn’t rush me, and I’m glad of that. I need these moments to process, to adjust and accept. And eventually, when I’m ready, I meet his gaze again.

  “Will you be naked too?”

  “No.”

  “I see. How many spanks?”

  “Ten. But hard.”

  “Ten. Yes. But I prefer to lie across your lap.”

  “The desk, Miss Fischer.” His gaze is unwavering, and his attitude uncompromising.

  He’s in charge, his call. My pussy clenches in enthusiastic response.

  “Very well.” I turn to reach for the door handle, then suddenly think of a problem. A big problem. “I’ll need to be able to see the sign. If I’m inside…”

  “I’m sure you’ll manage very well from memory, Miss Fischer. But just in case, there’s another one inside. A plaque on the wall.”

  At his prompt I remember seeing the plaque yesterday, sporting the same red and gold lettering as on the side of the van. And I know I can do this. I nod then open the van door.

  I follow Cain into the building, then stand beside him as he disables the alarm. My clothes and shoes are bundled in my arms, and I deposit those on Phyllis’ desk for now. My own desk will be required for other matters. The alarm sorted out, the outer door now closed, Cain leans on the door frame to watch me. The plaque is beside him, fastened to the wall.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Miss Fischer.” He steps forward to hand me my bag which he very kindly carried in for me from the van as my hands were full. I extricate the pad and turn to the correct page, glancing at the drawing of the JCB and at the space in the picture where Cain wants his sign to go. I lay the sketchpad on the desk.

  “Just here?” I point to the spot in the foreground.

  He simply nods, leaning back to watch me, his arms folded.

  I don’t require any further instructions—the process now is clear and simple enough. I stand and remove my jacket. I hang that over the back of my chair, and pull off my T-shirt. My bra follows quickly. Naked, I obligingly stand still for a few moments. I know he’ll want to look at me. He runs his eyes up and down my body before making a circling motion with his finger. Obedient, I turn around.

  “Bend over, Abbie. Show me your pussy.”

  The fierce clenching in my lower body forces me to hesitate for a couple of seconds before I lean forward to do as he’s said. I struggle to remain still as he continues to study me from his vantage point by the door.

  “Hold onto the chair if you need to steady yourself. Open your legs wide for me.”

  I do it, grateful for the stability offered by the sturdy chair as I spread my legs for his examination.

  “You’re still very wet. And very pink. Your clit’s swollen—I can see it from here. It’s all but waving at me. I think you’re enjoying this, Miss Fischer. What a hot little slut you are when the mood takes you. I do hope you won’t stain your chair. Maybe I should have you do the drawing standing up?”

  My stomach twists again at his words, and there’s a fresh dribbling of moisture from my wide open cunt. He’s right. I am a slut. And that being the case, I can’t help thinking how very acceptable it would be if he could see his way clear to ramming that thick, hard cock of his into my pussy right now. More wetness, more dribbles. Christ!

  “I’d prefer to sit, if I may. Perhaps there’s a towel or something…?”

  “Perhaps. I’ll check. Don’t move.”

  I remain in position as he strolls past me to the tiny kitchenette area. He emerges almost immediately with a tea towel. I’m sure there must be hygiene implications, but I keep those concerns to myself as he lays the towel across the seat of my chair.

  “You can sit down now, and get started please.”

  I dutifully take my seat, appreciating the roughness of the fabric under my throbbing pussy. I pick up my sketch pad, at the same time wriggling against the towel, my legs spread wide as I try to press my aching clit into it.

  “Sit up and keep still. The quicker you finish the drawing, and we get your spanking done with, the quicker I’ll fuck you. And that is what you want, isn’t it?”

  I do my best to sit normally as I glance at him, now lounging in Phyllis’ chair, his feet propped on her desk. “Yes. Thank you.”

  His answering smile is almost imperceptible, and the next few minutes are spent in highly charged silence. Or near enough. The only sound is the faint scratching of my pencil across the paper as I quickly sketch a signboard, which I can do freehand, then carefully copy in the details from the plaque. Despite my current circumstances, I do manage to concentrate fully on my task. I can read the lettering, pretty much, but I know I need to take care over the details.

  “Should I do the small writing as well? The numbers?”

  “Of course. Those are our contact details. We’ll need those in our advertising. We want people to be able to find us.”

  I nod briefly and return to the task, now peering closely at the plaque to be sure I don’t make any mistakes. I could do this much more quickly if he weren’t here, watching every move. The tension is almost palpable as I work even more slowly to avoid any mistakes. Well, to me it is. He seems perfectly relaxed.

  At last I lay my pencil down on the desk and pass my sketchpad to Cain for his inspection. He looks at my efforts then glances across at me.

  “Perfect, Abbie. We can use this as the cover for our next brochure.” He eyes me curiously, then stands and comes to crouch in front of me. He’s looking up into my face, clearly concerned.

  “You’re scared. I can see it in your eyes. Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?”

  I shake my head, but can’t prevent the prickling of tears at the backs of my eyes. I am afraid, but not of the spanking as he seems to think. As he watches me, my face crumples and suddenly I’m sobbing.

  “Holy fuck, Abbie.” He stands and scoops me from the chair, turning to sit down himself with me now cradled in his arms.

  He holds me, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance as I weep into his shirt. He traces large circles on my bare back with his palm, and I loop my arms around his neck and cling on. At last my sobs subside, and I’m reduced to a rather unattractive gulping sound. Cain reaches across to Phyllis’ desk for her box of tissues, which he thrusts into my hands. I make good use of them, tidying my ravaged face up as best I can before I dare look him in the eye again.

  “You a bit calmer now?” His tone is gentle, caring. I nod gratefully.

  “Abbie, anytime you want to stop, you can use your safe word. You do know that, don’t you?”

  I nod. �
��Yes. I know. It wasn’t that…”

  “What then?”

  What indeed? How can I even start to explain why I was so terrified as he studied my drawing, dreading that he might find something wrong. A letter copied the wrong way round, something missing. Anything at all to betray the fact that I can’t actually read it. And when he declared my reproduction perfect, I was so overwhelmed with relief that the floodgates just opened.

  “It’s nothing. Just me. I get, sort of…emotional. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

  He hugs me closer. “It might, love, and if it does, that’s fine. I like emotion, it shows we’re connecting. I like you to be afraid too, up to a point. But you looked to me as though you were really scared back then, and you weren’t supposed to feel like that. Can’t you tell me why it was? So I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  I shake my head. “Please, it was just me being silly. Can we leave it? Please, Cain?”

  He kisses my hair. “We will talk this through, and I will get to the bottom of it. But not now. Not if you don’t want to. And speaking of bottoms…” He pauses to caress mine. “Would you prefer to just get dressed and I’ll take you home?”

  “No! I mean, what about…?” I glance at my desk.

  He smiles. “Ah, my little Abbie. What a pain freak you’re turning out to be. How lovely. But on this occasion, and because I scared you before, you can lie across my knee if you want that.”

  I shake my head emphatically. “The desk. That’s what you said.” And, as an afterthought, “Why are you being so nice to me? This is a punishment isn’t it? I thought Doms were supposed to be stern. And hard.”

  He doesn’t answer at first, but his expression is serious, considering. I’m conscious that our relationship is shifting, deepening. Perhaps he knows it too.

  Eventually, he replies, “Doms are supposed to be whatever their subs need at the time. When you need stern and hard, you’ll get it. And when you need cuddling while you sob, you’ll get that too. And you’re quite correct, this is a punishment. So right now it seems you need to be spanked, and if you wouldn’t mind assuming the position, I’ll deliver that too.”